


Storms Ahead

by Verlassen



Category: Misfits
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, POV Second Person, jesus is this the only thing besides smut I write??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlassen/pseuds/Verlassen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s tentative and new, this strange but sweet budding relationship you seem to have with Simon. But there’re storms on the horizon and you’re not sure how your fragile boat will fare.</p>
<p>Simon/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short little story I couldn’t get out of my head. Kind of spoiler-ish for the beginning of Season 2 of Misfits. I realized there weren’t any Simon/OCs on this site I could find, and I just couldn't stop thinking about this, so I figured I had to get it out of my head. Written in second-person so you’re the main character.

It was a hot day outside the community centre, the sweltering warmth casting waving clear bands of heat just along the horizon of the blacktop. The not-so-merry band of oddballs you’d somehow found yourself associating with was busy cleaning up the surrounding area, donned in orange jumpsuits that had been partially pulled down in an attempt to escape the suffocating temperature. The local community college’s prom night had seen this area of the neighbourhood basically trashed; there were cans of beer, broken glass, and all other kinds of trash littering the once (kind of) clean streets. _Not to mention the unmentionables,_ you thought sourly as you picked at the edge of a condom with your broom, sweeping it into your growing pile of debris.

It certainly didn’t help that you were already in a foul mood. Peering towards the bright sun through scrunched eyes, you swiped at your forehead with one too-large glove, brushing back sweat but likely streaking your face with filth, too.

Even the sight of Nathan, gesturing crudely between his legs with a beer can couldn’t cheer you today. You only grimaced as he crushed the can, spilling out the remains of the liquid inside as he groaned and twitched exaggeratedly at Kelly, who shook her head good-naturedly and muttered something like _“nasty little wanker.”_

You sighed heavily, taking a moment to lean on your broom. It had been a rough night. Rougher than usual, by any means, and that was saying something. It was hard to sleep most nights since the _incident,_ if the dark bags almost permanently etched under your sleepy eyes were any evidence.

You never saw your own future, it seemed. Your powers were stingy like that. Instead, you saw snippets of events to come involving those close to you, and always at night when you lay down to sleep.

It was like that now, with you often scared to close your eyes for the night, fearing what you might see. Like Nathan, gasping his last breaths, a rusty pipe through his stomach. Like Curtis with that plastic bag wrapped around his head. Like Simon, with _her._

You couldn’t get the image out of your head. Simon, with Alisha of all people— _Alisha_ for heavens sake _—_ cradled in his arms. Their bare skin slicked with sweat, the harsh rise and fall of their chests just beginning to slow to normal.Her forehead ducked down to tuck against his chin in a tender moment. The look in his eyes was so pure and true, the most honest expression of unfiltered love you’d ever seen.

You had to scrunch your eyes closed against the sudden onslaught of emotion, and when you swayed slightly in your stance, you told yourself it was the heat.

“Are you alright?” The concerned voice, of course, was the boy himself, glancing up at you worriedly from his crouched position where he was working at mopping away a stain.

You gazed back at him, troubled. There was nothing but concern in his eyes, and yet… those were the eyes that had looked at her so filled with love and contentment. He wasn’t yours to have.

“Fine,” you said, with a watery, tight-lipped smile. He glanced at you, his gaze lingering, and for a moment it seemed like he might say something until you felt the weight of a hand on your back.

“What’s with the sour-face committee over here?” Nathan chimed, grinning as he pulled Simon along with his other arm. Looking between the two of you, he tutted sharply: “What? Don’t tell me you _don’t_ enjoy the feel of sweat drippin’ down your balls like a handsy drunk Uncle at a family reunion?”

“You need counselling, mate. _”_ Curtis was shaking his shining head ruefully in the distance.

“Fuck off Nathan,” you grumbled sourly, swatting at his hand and making to move away from the two, “Not today.” 

“Well fine!” He shouted after you, “I didn’t wanna take you to prom anyway!”

You needed to get as far away from the group as possible. Simon was too intuitive for his own good. It was the reason you liked him so much in the first place. Odd as he was, he was kind and careful, watching those around him and picking up on things no one else seemed to notice.

He was smart, and gentle. And even though he was quiet at first, there was a wisdom beyond his age when he did speak, and a still sort of comfort that seemed to seep into your bones just from being close to him. Not to mention he made you _laugh._ Who could have guessed the once awkward boy would be so very funny and cheeky once he warmed to you?

It was thoughts like these that often ended with you sneaking private glances at him. It was the reason nights your deep fear of dreaming of the future kept you awake, you’d lie on your bed and wonder what _his_ future might look like. Fantasized that perhaps, just maybe, he liked you too. That you might play some role in his story. And then, you’d seen it—the truth–and it’d soured you to the core.

You could feel the tears against your cheeks now, cool against the beating sun, as you snapped the gloves off your sticky hands, throwing them in an angry pile on the floor, mindless of who was around you or where you were going—you just needed to _go. Now._

“What’s your problem?” Alisha had pulled herself up a bit from where she was sunbathing against a bench near the community centre doors, pulling her sunglasses down a little so as to look at you. If she saw your tears she said nothing, but you could feel your jaw quiver and it made you feel small and ugly under her gaze.

You couldn’t bear to look back for long; she was so fucking beautiful that it was a little like looking at the sun. Life was so fucking unfair. It figures, really, that it’d be her. The pretty ones always came out on top. All the times she’d been dismissive and cruel to him—all your pining—and she was the one. Nothing about it made sense. And yet, thinking about yourself now, with all sorts of awful thoughts swarming your head, it seemed to fit. Who were you to dream such things? To think he might actually..?

Voice lodged in your throat you just moved past her on your warpath to the bathroom. You locked yourself in the stall furthest from the door and there you finally let it all go, weeping loudly into your hands. You could feel your body sucking in deep heaving breaths, your shoulders quaking as you finally allowed yourself to cry. You knew you liked the boy—could feel those hopeful stirrings of _something_ whenever your eyes managed to lock—but you had no idea, no idea that it would hurt this bad.

It was miserable. You could feel all the old thoughts coming back; worthlessness, the never-ending feeling that you were destined for nothing but complete and utter _aloneness._

When the tears finally ran dry you pulled yourself from your seat, sniffling pitifully as you made to stand. As if to cover your tracks, you pulled the handle and watched the water swirl and swirl: it was ridiculous really, as anyone within a few feet of the bathroom would have easily heard your pitiful snivelling, but somehow the sound seemed to comfort you.

You splashed water on your face, dismayed at the redness of your eyes, and tried to plaster your usual goofy grin on your face as you made your way back out into the blistering heat.

The rest of the day you managed to play at your usual self, getting into a can war with Nathan that ended in a bigger mess than usual and at one point enticed Kelly into chasing the poor boy around the parking lot for accidentally lobbing one at her head.

When it was finally lunch, though, you found a semi-private spot outside on that same bench Alisha had been sunbathing on. Everyone else was tucked away inside, in the shade and the air conditioning where it was cool, so you figured this was the safest place to be.

Alas, judging from the blue eyes suddenly blinking curiously across from you, you were mistaken.

“Hi,” Simon said tentatively as he pushed a bottle across the bench to you, “thought you might, ah, use a water?” He glanced up at the sun briefly, as if to carry his point.

“Why aren’t you inside with the others?” he murmured after he sat down, glancing up at you periodically.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you tried a smile, but it was a painfully fake feeling, and from the expression he made you knew you weren’t fooling him. You hid your traitorous mouth under another bite of your sandwich.

“Did you..” hesitantly, he seemed to be grasping for words, “have another.. dream, last night?”

You grimaced and then hid that too from his seeking eyes with another mouthful.

“You seem tired, and not yourself, that’s all.” He was picking at the bench with his fingers.

“Yeah,” you croaked, seeing no point in lying about this small thing, “I did.”

“Oh,” he nodded a bit, “did you want to talk about it?” It was the usual tradition between you two, to discuss the often metaphorical happenings of your dreams and try to decipher what it meant about the future. But this dream had been anything but metaphorical.

“No,” You grumbled, chewing angrily, as though you could mash your emotions to bits under your teeth.

Simon watched on warily, head tilting slightly in clear confusion and concern, “no?”

There was a pause, permeated only by the gnashing of your teeth.

“I’m worried about you,” he admitted quietly, “you’ve been avoiding me for days and now you—“

“I said no! So bugger off already!” you clipped before he was even done his sentence. The way he flinched though, as if physically struck; and that wounded expression as he stiffly rose had you panicking, a heavy sigh leaving you.

“I’m sorry Simon,” you blurted, “I shouldn’t be snapping at you. I’m just tired, and stressed out.”

“It’s alright,” his eyes were bright, and you almost smiled at how obviously happy he was whenever one of his intuitions was paying off, “Talking helps. I promise.”

Mouth pursed, you regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments. “Alright,” you said finally.

“So?”

“So, what if you really like someone, yeah?”

His cheeks seemed to bloom with colour, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly and nodded hurriedly, like some kind of skittish deer. You smiled softly, the slightest pulling at the corner of your lips as you watched him. “You like someone and you’re so sure there’s something between you. That they might like you back.”

Still picking at the old wood of the table, he managed to nervously glance at you a few times before staring back down at his fidgeting fingers. The action pulled your lips up further into that private smile, but it was hard to keep the bitter tears from pricking at your eyes. It was such a stark difference from your usual chats, where he’d stare, practically unflinching, soaking in every word, every expression, every gesture. Simon was like that, hungry to understand.

“There’s that hopeful feeling you get. The feeling like when you get to the last page of a book; like those times you’ve been so lonely you’ve been sick with it are about to be over. And you’re scared because you know that that hope carries with it the potential for so much pain.”

“I think—“ you could practically hear the dryness of his mouth, “I think that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” His expression was such a beautiful mix of worry, fear and then, there, the tiniest shade of hope that you could feel your heart breaking.

You could only shake your head, feeling the tears pushing at your ducks and forcing you to press your eyes closed against them.

“But then—“ nearly breathless, you pushed forward, “you have this dream, see. This dream that’s the clearest dream you’ve ever had. And this person that you so like, in the future, they’re.. they’re with someone else.”

“And you don’t know what to do because you’re gutted thinking that they don’t belong to you, but they look so very happy in this vision that you think yourself a monster for hating that they could find that kind of joy in someone that isn’t you.”

He was frozen, eyes blown wide, hand still where it had been fussing restlessly with the table.

“I really like you—“ you blurted suddenly, unable to help yourself, and you watched his mouth drop open as if he hadn’t been expecting it. And you were fucking crying again.

“I really, really, really like you,” you amended, smiling that pitiful watery smile you fucking hated, “but I realized last night after I had that _fucking dream_ for the third time in a row that I’m not meant for you and it hurts quite a lot.”

Simon went to open his mouth and then paused and shut it again. Then he gaped again and simply closed his jaw once more. You both stared at each other, you with a slow stream of tears coming down your face.

“Sorry,” your voice was so not your own, “I’m sorry. If we could just— just forget this, I would— I would— I mean— I don’t want to miss talking to you because I —“

And then you just closed your mouth, too, and sat looking back at him when you saw that familiar light in his eyes and he seemed to sit straighter, his mouth curving up.

“Remember when you saw Nathan dying?”

“What?” you sputtered back.

“When you saw Nathan dying. You were so scared.”

“Simon, I really don’t see what that has to do—“

“When you saw Curtis being suffocated with that plastic bag.”

“Well, yes, but… what are you tying to say?”

“I’m saying,” he said carefully, “maybe what you saw isn’t what you think. Maybe you don’t have the full story. Or..”

“Maybe there’s another explanation.” there was a quiet kind of triumph on his smile, and it was the kind of tilt of his lips that was infectious.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, and there was sureness in the statement, as if there was nothing more simple or obvious in the world.

“No offence,” he said softly as he came round to sit with you, one leg on either side of the bench, “but I think your dream interpretation leaves something to be desired.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaky though it was, the tension releasing as you shoved at him a little, “shut up.”

And then his hand was coming up, digits shivering slightly as he pushed your hair back behind your ear awkwardly.

You let your mouth drop closed, swallowing thickly, and leaned forward as if pulled by some unseen string.

“Tell me if you saw this coming…” he whispered, and he was leaning closer, too. Your eyes drooped, lashes fluttering against your cheek, heart in your chest. He was so close you could feel his breath and—

“Ey, Barry, listen to this one, a probation officer walks into a bar— Oh, _hell-o_ , what’s this then?”

“Fuck off, Nathan,” you said together, still so close you could practically feel his skin.

When his lips finally met your own, you melted into the softness and sweetness of it all, and privately, to yourself, you made up your mind. You didn’t know exactly what the future held, but here and now you were going to take this small bit of peace before whatever storms lay ahead.


End file.
